Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Cuba and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1964 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing Steve Hackett to the crunk kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by Television Personalities. All the underground hits.
All Robert Görl tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Alice Coltrane record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Vogues record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Be Bop Deluxe,
Erykah Badu,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Joe Finger,
The Associates,
The Standells,
The Cowsills,
The Happenings,
Buzzcocks,
The Durutti Column,
The Sound,
Alison Limerick,
Black Pus,
Fela Kuti,
Johnny Clarke,
The Cure,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Sound Behaviour,
Josef K,
The Monks,
Masters at Work,
Yazoo,
Alice Coltrane,
Grandmaster Flash,
Bill Near,
Public Enemy,
Eve St. Jones,
Youth Brigade,
The Busters,
Roy Ayers,
Glambeats Corp.,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
The Pretty Things,
The Dead C,
Robert Görl,
Lee Hazlewood,
The Mojo Men,
Jeff Lynne,
Zapp,
Amazonics,
The Residents,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Talk Talk,
Nirvana,
Radio Birdman,
David McCallum,
Alphaville,
Stetsasonic,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Crash Course in Science,
Slick Rick,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Mummies,
Public Image Ltd.,
The Index,
Audionom,
Althea and Donna,
Ornette Coleman,
Supertramp, Supertramp, Supertramp, Supertramp.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.